It is ten years since the passing of the Chassid R’ Zalman Levin a”h of Kfar Chabad. He walked among us but he belonged to the generation of giants, Chassidim who lived lives of mesirus nefesh. In a series of meetings with him, he recounted the story of his childhood in a Chassidishe home in the Soviet Union where children learned Torah and where kosher meat was secretly slaughtered. * Part 3 of 9
My bar mitzva was approaching. Of course, we couldn’t go to a Judaica store and order new t’fillin. Nor were there sofrim who wrote parshiyos to be found throughout Russia. What did we do? Where did people get t’fillin from?
There was a special alliance that took care of those who needed t’fillin or a tallis. When an old person died, the members of the group would immediately take his t’fillin and pass them along to someone who needed them. Sadly, there were also those who dropped their religious practices and left their t’fillin in shul. My father, who was a Shamash in shul, collected these pairs of t’fillin and passed them along to those who needed them. Whenever he found a pair of these t’fillin he was thrilled (as well as sad that someone had abandoned Judaism). Rather than throw away their t’fillin, at least these people had left their t’fillin in shul.
When I became bar mitzva, I got my t’fillin from someone who had left religious practice.
We often had to bring t’fillin or tallisos from city to city. How was this done without being caught? By transferring it along with merchandise.
All this was no simple matter. In Russia, nobody manufactured tallisos, for that was a crime of the highest magnitude, not only from the religious aspect but also because it entailed private enterprise. This is why all the tallisos were brought in from abroad. Wealthier Jews took care of poorer Jews and sent them for free.
When tallisos finally arrived, having entailed danger and clever ruses, people were very careful with them so they wouldn’t tear. If they tore, there was no replacing it in the nearest store.
At that time, the government allowed aid packages from abroad to be sent to citizens. These packages mostly consisted of food. They often came along with a message from the Rebbe. It was usually part of the paper that was wrapped around the items in the package. Sometimes it was a letter or sicha of the Rebbe who was in Riga at the time. That day was a happy one for the Chassidim. I hardly remember occurrences like these, because generally they would hide them from us children.
The story of my bar mitzva takes time; it’s a long story. My father was not able to be present since he was sitting in jail, but he was released shortly thereafter. This was thanks to the committee who took care of things like this, of Anash who were put in prison. The members of the committee worked to have him released in whatever way they could, whether by giving bribes or through connections in the right places. The vaad that helped my father had R’ Zalman Sudekevitz as one of the leaders. He used his wealth and financial resources to help gain the release of Jews from jail and this often involved large sums of money. He also had good connections with many gentiles through business and he used these connections to help get Jews released.
While my father was imprisoned someone had to take charge of the children that my father taught.
In those days, parnasa was hard. People worked hard in order to have food to eat. Since it was illegal to conduct normal business, many Jews would buy merchandise from gentiles, a type of merchandise that was easily obtainable from villagers who manufactured it themselves. Then, they would sell it in the market of Nevel. With this money, they would buy items that were not available in the villages, like a device with which they heated water or cooked.
Often, they would get a calf or even a cow from the villagers and in the middle of the night they would bring it to the Jews’ homes so it could be properly slaughtered.
As a child, I helped with parnasa. It was impossible to obtain kosher meat in Leningrad at that time. It was harder and more complicated, due to technical reasons, to shecht secretly. It was a busy city and was carefully scrutinized by the police.
Since Nevel was a relatively smaller place, they were able to shecht animals occasionally, albeit with great fear (as mentioned earlier). The Jews of Leningrad asked that when someone would be going to Leningrad, he should take along some meat, enough for an average portion for an entire family. Sometimes I would do this; I would take two suitcases full of meat on this long trip.
It was 500 kilometers between Nevel and Leningrad, a full night’s journey, a night of nightmares and terror. If I was caught with the meat, the punishment would be severe, but I did what I could to minimize the danger. I did not have a beard yet, and when I wore a cap and dressed in rags, nobody paid attention to me.
I remember that there were government appointed people whose job it was to walk through the train cars and search passengers’ belongings, to ensure that all was above-board. There were times that those on patrol would go to my suitcases, but they didn’t know that they belonged to me since I put them in one car and sat in another car. It was better if they confiscated the meat than if they took me along too and my family etc., and who knew who else might get dragged into this.
Although I sat in a different car, I kept close watch on my belongings. The trip was nerve-wracking. I would keep changing cars and would often stand between two cars in a dangerous spot. Of course, I traveled in the cheapest cars and fortunately, I was able to drag such heavy suitcases at a young age.
I made this trip a few times, and each time all went well, without anyone confiscating the merchandise. When I arrived in Leningrad and brought it to Anash, to the home of R’ Yaakov Yosef Raskin and other families, they would warmly welcome me and give me a nice sum of money for my father.
Since I struggled with safely avoiding attending public school, I would stay with them for a long time, days or weeks, until the danger passed. The goal was to be as far as possible from the prying eyes of the police who wanted to know why I wasn’t in school.
The Chassidim in Leningrad helped me on a number of occasions and this saved me.
When I would return to Nevel, they would send along products with me that were not readily available in a small town, like sugar and chocolate. Of course, I hid these things so snoops wouldn’t find it. If I had been caught, I would have had to pay dearly, and not just me but my family and everyone connected with this. This is why I took great precautions, as I did when I brought the meat. I was a child with well-developed instincts and I was very quick. Every time the patrols came by, I would immediately find myself a hiding place.
I think about how I withstood poverty, cold, utter lack of basic necessities, in such difficult circumstances and under such great pressure, that it’s hard to believe that an ordinary child could handle it. I think that even the T’mimim in their hardest times did not experience the suffering I endured as a young boy.
R’ Yisroel Neveler lived in the town of Toropets, which is about 200 kilometers away from Nevel. This town had a factory that manufactured vodka and every family had the right to buy vodka at a good price.
Every day, a long line of people waiting to buy vodka formed near the factory. Each person could receive a special coupon and the coupon entitled him to one bottle.
It should be noted that in those days, mashke was a rare commodity in Russia. When you consider the conditions back then, the only way to warm oneself a bit in the terrible cold and to forget the suffering that was everyone’s lot was to drink a bit of vodka and to sing peasant songs. Jews used vodka for business purposes in places where vodka was unobtainable (like Nevel), not to mention keeping some vodka for special Chassidic days.
In order to get the coupon for a bottle of vodka, one had to wait in a very long line and it wasn’t easy getting on the line. Often, we stood on line to get vodka and when it was finally our turn to get a bottle, the supply was used up. Or sometimes, when we got a bottle, the gentile youth would attack us and steal our vodka.
Oy, oy, what we went through. It was an unbearable nightmare; to spend such a long time on line, and after hours of nerve-wracking waiting, which was accompanied by bullying and harassment from gentile kids, only to discover that we had waited for nothing since there was no mashke or to have it stolen from us by wicked shkatzim. This happened often enough.
I and some other Jewish children my age, and Jewish women, both from Toropets and from other nearby towns, came and stood on line in hopes of getting a bottle (and exchanging it for valuable food items). We knew that we’d get to eat a better meal with a little more variety or a little more abundance. It was definitely dangerous, but if it went successfully, it was worth it.
Over time, we collected a number of bottles and we would take them back to Nevel. I remember that when we got home with some bottles, it was a joyous occasion. A veritable holiday. In exchange for a bottle of vodka we would get two big sacks of potatoes for the entire winter.
Sometimes my mother would travel to stand on line for hours in order to get vodka; sometimes my sisters would travel and stand there for hours. It was definitely an occupation that effected the lives of our family.